


Gridwork

by Cameron_McKell



Series: Upon Further Review [17]
Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Past major character injury, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 01:29:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cameron_McKell/pseuds/Cameron_McKell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tron takes care of Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gridwork

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to "Close".

Sam watched through half-lidded eyes as Tron surveyed the geometry before him, and idly wondered what sort of criteria he used to assess it. Shape? Angle degree, or sharpness? Texture? Ambient temperature? Overall runtime? It was all part of Sam's general desire to know what Tron was thinking, and _how_ he thought it.

 

Tron reached out to touch the section of gridwork in front of him, and Sam half pushed himself into a sitting position in alarm, “Don't-”

 

Freezing in place, Tron looked over at Sam curiously, then obligingly backed away. “Lie back down, and save your strength; I'll be done soon.”

 

Sam flopped back down with an impatient huff. “Yeah, yeah, go ahead,” he replied with mild sarcasm, making a rolling 'carry on' gesture with his hand in the air.

 

Tron snorted in amusement, then returned to his in-depth assessment of – if Sam wasn't mistaken – the same collections of corners and lines he'd been staring at for the last five minutes. Finally, Tron seemed satisfied, and promptly covered the sharp black angles with thick, pale batter.

 

Tron followed his mental checklist of instructions, dropping three more dollops onto the waffle grid, then spreading the batter out a bit more with the back of the spoon, before lowering the upper grid down and locking it into place.

 

Sam peeked over the top of the couch again at the sound of hissing batter, watching Tron absently break chunks of unsweetened chocolate off into his small pot of cream of wheat on top of Alan's stove; it was on a 'keep warm' setting in order to melt the chocolate in, as well as keep it at an ideal eating temperature while Tron waited on Sam's food, “How's your leg?”

 

“Still integrating, but fully functional,” Tron replied while he peeked at the waffle light. He shot the refrigerator a still vaguely distrusting look, before shuffling over to it; Sam was weirdly almost glad that he'd been knocked out in the crash, or he'd probably never get the image of Tron covered in fractures and missing most of his leg out of his mind's eye. As it was, Tron looked good as new; the same _definitely_ couldn't be said about Sam.

 

Tron put a hand on the refrigerator door, “Do you eat them with syrup?”

 

“Does he have blueberry?” Sam tried to sit up so he could direct the program, but had to settle back down as the twisting pulled painfully on his stitches. “Usually comes in a kind of small bottle. Glass. And don't let the name fool you; it's actually a dark purple.”

 

“Then why are they called _blue_ berries?”

 

Sam paused, “You know, I never thought about it. Let me check.” So saying, he pulled his phone – thankfully cleaned of his own blood – out of his pants' pocket carefully, and began typing.

 

Tron shut the door with some finality, then went to check the light again, “He doesn't have any.”

 

“Then a little apricot jam; I know he's got some of that lying around here,” he replied absently, reading over the article he'd found. “The berries have a sort of natural wax on them when you pick them; it's what makes them look blue, so the first people that saw them saw a blue berry. Huh.”

 

Tron set the small jar of golden-orange jam on the counter, having once again braved the refrigerator to retrieve it, and set about extracting Sam's waffle from the machine. He pulled out a small selection of flatware, then turned to the jam jar with a spoon in hand. “According to whom?”

 

“A random article on the internet, so you know it _must_ be true,” Sam just gently dropped his phone onto the floor, then looked around. “I feel a little bad, us crashing at Alan's place and having a breakfast party, while he's stuck at work covering for me.” Under normal circumstances, Sam would still be in the hospital today, but they'd agreed to release him to rest in a more comfortable environment provided he was under supervision in case of any unexpected _internal_ complication; Sam's emergency contact was Alan – in part because the healthcare system, and the world at large, didn't know Tron existed, but also because his presence in the User world was only sporadic – so he'd been released into his care.

 

It was just a good thing all around that Alan was his contact – it meant he'd been quickly informed of the accident, so he knew to go searching for Tron, all busted up and crashed out in an _alley_ , of all places – but with Tron around and newly repaired, they hadn't had to cancel the early morning meeting. They _had_ canceled the testing scheduled for later in the day, though.

 

“He should be back in approximately 14.67 minutes, depending on traffic; I saved some batter for him. He'll have to heat the waffle machine again, though. Excessive empty heating of non-stick surfaces can void warranties.” Tron circled behind the couch, arms somewhat precariously full; in one hand he held Sam's plate of waffles – lightly coated in jam and already segmented into the smaller squares – and accompanying utensils, while in the other he held a glass of milk – again for Sam – while balancing his own bowl of chocolatey cream of wheat – spoon already stuck into the bowl – atop his wrist.

 

Tron carefully set each item down onto the coffee table, then turned around to help readjust the pillows propping Sam up until he was mostly upright, absently dropping a kiss on the top of Sam's head in the process, then turned to grab his own food. Sam may or may not have copped a feel before reaching for his own food. Tron largely ignored the somewhat ill-timed flirtation, simply grabbing his bowl instead, before he carefully slid his way under Sam's battered legs. Sam tried not to make a face as Tron took his first bite of slightly-brownish glop, and dug in.

 

It wasn't even ten whole seconds until Tron made a strangled, amused noise.

 

Sam looked up at him speculatively, swallowed, then managed, “What?”

 

Instead of replying, Tron reached over to swipe a small blob of jam from the corner of Sam's mouth with his thumb, before sticking it in his own. Sam watched him, stuck somewhere between curious about his thoughts on the flavor, and turned on.

 

Tron gave him a knowing look, then slowly pulled his thumb back out, and adopted a thoughtful pose.

 

Sam stared at him, and tried not to swallow audibly.

 

Tron gave a little 'eh' shrug, and turned back to his food.

 

“Tease,” Sam mumbled, but did the same.

 

“Only sometimes,” Tron replied, and hid his smile.


End file.
